


If It Fits Your Fancy

by kyrene



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: And then a happy ending!, Arthur likes to watch, M/M, projectionEames banging the hell out of Eames
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/pseuds/kyrene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames wants to prove that Arthur is lacking in imagination. Arthur wants some hot Eames on Eames action. They embark upon what seems like a simple bet, and there is much smut and a happy ending (because this was posted on Valentine's Day)!</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Fits Your Fancy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyrene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrene/gifts).



_"Darling, creating the infinite staircase was indeed an act of imagination... by M. C. Escher. When you do it in the dream it only requires skill. Which I'll grant you, you have, and in spades. But as for imagination... well, the two things are quite dissimilar, let me assure you."_

***

As a gambling man, Eames generally knew better than to enter into a bet that he had no chance of winning. And as a man who had worked with Arthur before, he was well aware that Arthur wasn't the type to enter into a wager that he felt he had any chance of losing.

But the possibility of getting one up on the point man was just too tempting. And when Arthur had bet Eames that he could prove he did indeed have an imagination... well, how was Eames supposed to resist that?

Sometimes Eames thought that his brain was out to get him.

On the other hand, he honestly hadn't thought that Arthur had an ounce of imagination in his pretty, pointed little head. 

The wager was supposed to be a sure thing for _Eames_ , dammit.

***

"Any rules I need to know about before we go under?" Eames asked, smirking at Arthur across the open PASIV device. He looked as though he was already sure he had won the bet, and this made Arthur's blood sizzle, made him even more determined to prove his point. 

He was taking a big chance, but he was sick of dealing with Eames' endless innuendos and his complete lack of follow-through. If he was going to push the issue, he was going to push it all the way. If he managed to prove a point at the same time... well, so much the better.

"I know how you do love your rules," Eames continued, still smirking. "How you like to have everything neatly under your control."

Arthur arched a brow. "This is about proving that I have imagination," he said mildly. "There's not much that's controlled about an effective exercise in imagination."

Eames pursed his lips and Arthur felt a throb of arousal that he stubbornly ignored. He was , however, even more determined upon his course for having seen it.

"On the other hand," he added thoughtfully. "I do need to keep you under my thumb in order to prove my point. Do I have your word that you'll do whatever I say?"

"Whatever you say?" Eames asked, and if Arthur wasn't mistaken there was as much a flare of alarm in his eyes as there was dawning intrigue. Well, Eames hadn't gotten where he was without a powerful sense of self preservation, and Arthur was pretty sure that there was no one Eames trusted, up to and including Eames himself. He certainly didn't trust Arthur.

Arthur wasn't sure whether Eames really ought to trust him or not, but in this particular situation it seemed kind of necessary.

"I don't intend any harm," he said a little stiffly. "I'm only trying to prove my point. I'm willing to call it off if you are."

"What? No!" Eames' expression tightened. "Do you think I'm worried? I doubt you could dream up anything that might traumatize me."

Arthur couldn't help giving Eames a crooked little smirk. "Isn't that kind of the point?"

"To traumatize me?"

Arthur did his best not to laugh aloud, because he wasn't willing to give that much ground right now. "Not to traumatize you, of course. To prove that I can _affect_ you. Something completely different but similar."

"All right," Eames drawled, and he had his relaxed, mildly amused expression back in place. Not that Arthur was buying it for a moment. "Shall we, then?"

Arthur nodded, and they got themselves hooked up in silence. 

"Wait," Arthur heard Eames say as he depressed the button, "Shouldn't we specify what the winner receives?"

It was too late to reply as consciousness washed away into the intensity of the dream-share, but Arthur didn't care. As far as he was concerned, he was going to win this bet, and his triumph was going to be his prize.

***

Eames had to admit it; he was a little surprised to come to awareness in an opulent bedroom.

He took his time looking around. It was a nice room. The bed was covered in silk and cotton, festooned with pillows and draped in a duvet that looked nearly as plump as the pillows. The carpet under his feet was thick and plush. Eames was barefoot, and he wriggled his toes, enjoying the sensation. The lighting was dim and intimate, golden lamps set to either side of the headboard, and the bedframe was carved from a rich wood with a glossy finish.

Eames arched his brows. "If you were intending to seduce me," he drawled, glancing down at the simple white shirt and dark trousers he was wearing, "You needn't have gone to all this trouble."

"That wasn't my intent," Arthur replied easily, stepping through a doorway behind Eames, causing Eames to start a little. He tried to disguise this by spinning to face the other man. He hadn't exactly missed seeing this door, but it _had_ been hidden in shadow, as Arthur had been. 

"This room is lovely," Eames allowed, forging onward to save face, turning away from Arthur in order to give their surroundings another sweeping look. Arthur was dressed the same as Eames was, and it looked so hot on him that Eames was in serious danger of getting hard if he didn't avert his gaze. "However, it doesn't really require any imagination to dream up a setting like this."

Arthur chuckled, behind him and a little to the right. Eames felt the hairs on his nape stand up. Arthur's footsteps had been silent on the thick carpet and he'd come right up behind Eames without his being quite aware. Eames had the distinct sensation of being stalked, and it took everything in him to stand still and not turn to face Arthur again. 

"I realize that," Arthur said smoothly, moving from Eames' right to his left. "Can I ask you to sit down on the bed?"

"You could command it," Eames grinned, moving to do as he'd been asked. "I agreed to obey your every whim, remember?"

"Technically, you never actually did," Arthur said, and he remained standing before Eames, so that Eames had to crane his neck up to meet those beautiful brown eyes. Eames wasn't sure he liked this, was pretty sure he disliked it, but he was too proud to protest.

"I did so," he told Arthur, because he _had_ done.

"You said 'all right'. That could have been a general acknowledgement of my point, not specific agreement," Arthur said, and Eames noticed for the first time that his hair was free of pomade. He could tell from the way his own fringe was flopping soft over his forehead that his was too. Really, there could not have been a more delicious set up for sex, but Eames just couldn't see Arthur going to all the trouble to lure him into the dream-share when they could have fallen into bed topside. It was.... Well, he wasn't going to credit Arthur with any imagination, not yet. But there _must_ be more to this scenario than a simple attempt at seduction.

"It was agreement," Eames clarified. "I agreed to do whatever you tell me to. I'm agreeing to it right now."

Something flared in Arthur's eyes, lighting the dark brown from within, even in the darkness of the room, and he took one step toward Eames before he regained control of himself.

"All right," Arthur said, smiling tightly. Eames frowned faintly. He'd have liked to see Arthur smiling honestly, wide and delighted, his dimples on full display. But this expression was so rare that Eames barely knew it existed, and he didn't think it had ever been legitimately directed at him. Maybe someday....

"Take off your shirt and scoot back into the pillows," Arthur directed. One brow quirked, as though he was waiting for Eames to disobey or protest.

Contrary to this, Eames was intrigued and so he did as Arthur had directed, undoing the two buttons that had been holding the shirt together over his midriff, shrugging out of it, then dropping it on the floor.

"Not my trou?" he asked, discovering that it was easier for Arthur to say "scoot back" than it was for Eames to actually do so. The duvet was rich and he sank into it, the silk was slick, and the entire bed seemed determined to swallow him alive. At least the pillows were firm and comfortable once he finally reached the point that he could lean back against them.

"No," Arthur replied simply, one corner of his lips twitching upward in a manner that Eames found to be very suspicious, as well as ridiculously attractive. Eames was committed to his course now, however, and so he lounged, trying to look at ease and ready for anything Arthur might send his way. 

"Not yet?" Eames asked hopefully, raising his brows.

"You will not be removing your trousers during this dream," Arthur informed him crisply, and Eames tried to rein in his disappointment.

"Don't know why you'd go to all this trouble, then," he grumbled, waving a hand to encompass the entire room. It really was exquisite, in a way that reality could never be. But that was half the point of the dream-share, wasn't it, to be better than reality. "And I've no idea how you're planning on proving to me that you do possess an imagination."

Arthur smirked. There was no other word for his expression. And Eames found himself reduced to staring silently, because he had never before seen Arthur look so wicked, so wily. He was usually almost painfully straightforward and earnest....

"Just wait a moment," Arthur instructed. "We've got hours on the clock, down here, and I intend to make the best use of the time."

Eames wasn't growing nervous. Really he wasn't. He had to admit, though, if only to himself, that he wished that he had half a clue what it was that Arthur had in mind for him.

***

Eames looked torn between reacting favorably and disfavorably, so Arthur decided it was time to stop beating around the bush. It had taken him quite a while and too much time spent clashing with the forger, but he was beginning to get a sense for just how hard and how far he could push Eames.

It was time for him to stop pushing him one way, and start pushing another.

"Stay on the bed," he commanded, enjoying the way Eames' face twisted in indignation, and then chagrin when he realized that, yes, he had given his word and so he had to do as Arthur said.

"Fuck you," Eames rumbled, which was fair enough because he hadn't made any promises about his tongue, and he did remain where he was, unmoving. He looked like the best kind of porn, stretched out in his dark pants and nothing else, his nipples pink and pointed, a light dusting of hair on his firm pectorals, trailing down his hard, muscular belly. It was his lips, however, that drew Arthur attention. And not just because they looked to have been created with cocksucking in mind.

"Quit pouting," Arthur directed, knowing that he sounded more affectionate than was reasonable but unable or maybe just unwilling to try to hide it. "And I will not be the one getting fucked tonight."

Eames had opened those delicious lips with Arthur's first sentence, but he snapped them closed at the second, his brows ratcheting up toward his hairline. Arthur considered it a minor victory, to have gotten Eames to shut up without using a gun or plastering his hand over the man's mouth. Not that either of these methods were any guarantee. Arthur had seen Eames taunt more than one criminal holding him at gunpoint. He considered it to be something of a miracle that Eames was still alive at all. Then again, Eames was very good at reading people and had an innate skill for pushing them just as far as they would go and no further.

The fact that he regularly pushed Arthur _beyond_ his limit could have meant one of two things. Either he wasn't as adept at reading Arthur, which Arthur found to be highly unlikely, or else he knew exactly what he was doing and was seeking a certain reaction that he wasn't getting.

Well, he wasn't going to be expecting Arthur's actions now. That much Arthur was absolutely sure of.

Seeing Eames stretched out on the bed, on display for him like that, Arthur felt himself beginning to harden in his own pants. Even though his shirttails did a good job of hiding the slight bulge, Arthur didn't want to tip his hand too early. So, instead he gave Eames one last heated look, then turned and paced with careful deliberation over to the door hidden in shadows behind him.

He'd created a small area in this dream. Just this one bedroom, and the one tiny anteroom where he had been waiting... but not alone. It was this ante-room he entered now.

"Come on," he said, crooking two fingers in summons and receiving a wry grin in return. But he also gained instant obedience, so he didn't mind. Besides, he'd have been disappointed if he'd been careless or unobservant enough not to have captured at least a modicum of reality.

Arthur didn't pretend that he knew everything about Eames -- that would be boring -- but he knew enough to serve his purposes. He knew enough to create a reasonable facsimile.

And that was exactly what he had done.

***

Eames had gone to great lengths throughout the years to train himself out of giving an uncontrolled reaction to anything that might come his way... but all of that went right out the proverbial window as Arthur strode back into the room with a projection of _Eames himself_ in tow.

He knew that his eyes went round and his jaw went lax, and yet he couldn't rein in this honest and instinctive response. He hadn't really had any idea what to expect, but if he had been expecting anything at all, it certainly never would have been _this_.

Whatever _this_ was.

"Arthur," he said, trying to sound more bemused than confused, since he could not manage to sound completely unaffected, "Whatever are you doing?"

"Proving to you that I do have an imagination," Arthur replied, with a smug little quirk to his lickable cupid-bow lips. Eames focused on that, not only because it was one of the most delicious things he had ever seen, but because _there was a projection of himself_ standing there behind Arthur, and a man ought never to see his own face outside a mirror or captured on film. Certainly not three dimensional and breathing.

"Look at him," Arthur ordered, completely undermining Eames' efforts, as he led the doppelganger up to the bedside and placed a hand on his shoulder. Eames couldn't help but note how easy this move had been, how familiar with this projection Arthur seemed to be. Arthur had never touched Eames himself, outside that time he had hooked him up to the PASIV device during the Fischer job, and now he burned with sudden and largely unexpected jealousy.

Eames had already opened his mouth to protest when he belatedly remembered that he'd given his word he would obey any direct order. And since he was a man of honour -- even if it was his own code that no one else might understand -- and since he refused to lose face in front of Arthur, much less a projection of himself, he did as directed.

The projection looked just like him, which was more than a little disconcerting. Not only did Arthur have his features down to a disturbing degree -- though that could be largely subconscious -- but he was dressed the same as Eames had been when he had come to awareness in the dream, his hair as free of product and loose as Eames' was now.

"He looks good, doesn't he," Arthur prompted, still with that crooked little smirk, his hand still resting possessively on the projection's shoulder. Eames wondered if the projection was as warm as he was, whether they smelled the same.... Well, Arthur had gotten every last smudge of stubble, every little eyelash correct; surely he wouldn't have failed in these other details.

"Don't fish for compliments, darling," he forced himself to say lightly, trying to ignore the gnawing ache of jealousy as Arthur circled the projection, trailing one of those large, graceful hands down one arm, then spreading his fingers over its chest on the other side. "You know it's not becoming."

"I can't take pride in my accomplishment?" Arthur asked, quirking a brow quizzically. Eames couldn't help fixating, though, on how Arthur's hand was still resting on the projection's chest with such lazy familiarity.

"It's very nice," Eames said tartly, knowing he was giving far too much away with his tone but unable to help himself. "As you well know."

"I'm just working at proving my point," Arthur murmured, and he was leaning in so close to the projection of Eames that Eames could almost _feel_ the hard muscles of Arthur's chest pressing against his own shoulderblade and upper arm. Only it wasn't him, and he had never been as close, physically, to Arthur. 

Suddenly this seemed to Eames to be the greatest tragedy the world had ever known.

"I understand," he replied, doing his best not to scowl because to do so would be to give far too much away. "But, Arthur, that is not imagination; that just observation."

Arthur loosed a delighted laugh, but then sobered immediately, before Eames could fully appreciate the open expression on his face. Arthur looked completely different with his hair curling loose around his temples. He looked younger and more approachable.... Only for Eames he was as far away as ever, and even more so with a projection of Eames himself standing between them.

"I won't argue that," Arthur murmured, and Eames felt his eyes widen again as Arthur shifted, turned his head, and _nuzzled_ the projection's neck. 

Up to this point, Eames had been simmering on the verge of burning with jealousy and possessive rage, even though Arthur was not his to feel that way over. But now....

Well, if Arthur was going to snog a projection of Eames right in front of him, then it was completely fucked up and twisted, yes, but it would be undeniably hot. Eames would rather it was _his_ body that Arthur was leaning into, _his_ neck that Arthur was nosing. His skin shivered at the very thought. But since this didn't seem to be in the offing, he might as well appreciate the view....

Seeing Arthur rubbing up against a facsimile of himself was nothing approaching Arthur tumbling Eames himself into the bed, but depending on what Arthur was planning, it might well be all that Eames was going to get out of this. Eames had to admit that he was reluctantly intrigued, and his prick had evidently decided that this was something it wanted to stand up and take notice of.

He was fortunate that the way he was lounging against the pillows made it possible to draw up his thighs and hide his growing arousal. But he could do nothing about the heat washing through his cheeks and ears, flushing the skin a bright pink and working its way down his neck and exposed chest, making his scalp prickle.

"Then what is the point of this little scenario?" he asked evenly, feeling a little more confident now that he'd gained control of his surprise in reaction to this strange situation. He couldn't do anything about his physical response, but he doubted Arthur would be offended if he was turned on by this little show. In fact, he might venture to imagine that Arthur would be offended if he were _not_ turned on by it, even though he still had no idea of the reason for it.

"We're getting to that," Arthur murmured, his hands moving to the front of the projection's chest to unfasten those same two buttons Eames had already undone on his shirt when he'd pulled it off.

Eames couldn't help licking his lips, watching those lean, elegant fingers move, wishing that Arthur had helped him with his own shirt instead of ordering him to remove it himself. 

"You aren't angry?" Arthur continued, his eyes bright and fixed on Eames as he peeled the shirt slowly off the projection's upper body and dropped it on the floor. 

"About what?" Eames questioned, though he suspected he might already know the answer. 

Instead of replying verbally, Arthur spread his hands over the wings of the projection's ribcage, a near-embrace from behind, then pressed his tempting mouth to the smooth line of its shoulder.

"This room... these games... me," the projection replied, in Eames' own voice, wide lips curving in the smile Eames knew he wore when he was feeling particularly smug and amused. He met those stormy grey eyes that matched his exactly, and suddenly it was impossible to think of this projection as "it" rather than "he".

Eames knew full well that even though this projection was wearing his face and form, using his voice, reacting to things the way he did, that was actually a portion of _Arthur's_ subconscious looking at him, speaking to him. It was strange and unnerving, even for someone used to working in the dream-share the way Eames was, even for someone used to hiding behind faces and forms that were not his own... but he also found it intriguing. On more than one level. For instance, finding out how Arthur saw him. That was bound to be interesting, if nothing else.

"I suppose it depends," he replied calmly, resting his hands on his thighs, watching avidly as Arthur peered over the projection's shoulder at him.

"Depends on what?"

Even though this question came from the projection rather than Arthur, Eames replied to both of them. He could play along with whatever Arthur had in mind, but he was fully aware that it was Arthur asking as much as it was the projection, no matter who had voiced the query.

"It depends on why you're doing this. It depends on how often it's happened before. And it depends on why Arthur is here, snogging a copy of me instead of doing so with the real thing in the waking world."

Arthur laughed again, the sound fascinating to Eames, even though the lower half of his face was still hidden behind the projection's shoulder. His eyes were bright and crinkled with humor, a look that Eames filed away to be remembered and treasured later.

"A very reasoned response, Mr. Eames," Arthur replied, emerging from around the projection, blessedly removing his hands from all that bared flesh. "I can certainly answer the first part of it."

Eames raised his brows. "But not the latter part?"

Arthur chuckled. The bastard actually _chuckled_ , and it didn't matter that there was a projection of Eames standing there, it was those incredible dimples that captured and held all of Eames' attentions.

"Eames," he said, his voice a low rumble as he seated himself on the edge of the bed, twisting at the waist to meet Eames' eyes directly. "I have a projection of you."

"Believe it or not, I had noticed," Eames replied dryly.

Arthur gave him another predatory smile, his teeth sharp and white. "I would very much like it if you would let him fuck you while I watched."

Eames hated being caught out, giving an unguarded reaction. Especially twice in the same hour, no matter that they were dream hours. Arthur had always had that ability, whether he chose to utilize it or not, but this was quite extreme. Eames wasn't willing to cede the point on Arthur having any imagination, but he had certainly been taken by surprise, more than once.

Instead of replying immediately, since he couldn't have done if he'd wanted, Eames took a moment to examine the projection as he worked to pull himself together. He could feel Arthur's gaze on him, could feel the focused intent, but he ignored it in favour of thinking the matter over. 

Eames was not a man with an overly narcissistic streak, but he did have a certain awareness that his physical appearance was more pleasing than not; at least when he put a little effort into it. Normally he tried his hardest to downplay his good points and didn't attempt to hide his flaws, because in his line of work anonymity was preferable to attention. It was all very well and good to stand out in the dream, but in the waking world, that could get him caught or killed.

He did tend to think that Arthur had done the opposite and focused on his better bits, as far as this projection was concerned. Then again, Eames supposed that he didn't really have an objective view of his own physicality. And the loose hair and half bared torso helped. 

Some dream-share criminals tended to let themselves go soft, since they could do anything they set their minds to while they were under, but Eames had never held with that. Not only did he _like_ keeping himself fit, but it could become essential, if something were to go wrong and he ended up having to deal with an enemy while awake. He was pretty sure Arthur ascribed to the same mindset, from what he could see of the other man beneath his crisp shirts and deliciously fitted trousers. How he longed to map the hard muscles and sharp lines of Arthur's lean body with his eyes, with his hands, with his mouth....

But that wasn't on the table now. Eames didn't know whether it ever would be, but right now he was faced with a decision, and he had better give Arthur an answer quickly. He didn't much care about how awkward this whole scenario might get; he simply didn't want Arthur thinking that he was having a hard time making up his mind.

It actually didn't require much thinking.

"All right," he replied, smirking at the projection and seeing the expression echoed back at him. It was disconcerting, but not enough so to be off-putting.

"Really?" Arthur sounded a bit surprised, which gave Eames heart.

Eames switched his gaze to Arthur and raised a brow. "You can't possibly have asked if you hadn't thought I might say yes," he said, allowing a bit of incredulity to creep into his voice because... well, it was _Arthur_. The man had a plan for everything and over-thought every interaction into the ground ahead of time. That was why it was so much fun to occasionally catch him out.

Arthur's expression firmed up, confidence coming over it like a cloak, and Eames regretted the loss of that one precious moment of vulnerability he'd managed to score. 

"You have a point," he said, and he wasn't smiling at Eames, but there was something warm in his eyes. "I just hadn't actually expected it to be so easy."

"You mean you didn't expect _me_ to be so easy," Eames teased, grinning to try and show that he didn't actually mean the words. Well, maybe a bit, but he wasn't offended. "I do have a question, though. Why not just command me to do it? I did agree to do whatever you said."

Arthur's brow wrinkled in a frown beneath his fringe of loose hair. Without the pomade it was a dark brown lightening at the tips and the faint curls looked so soft that Eames ached to sink his fingers into it. "I don't want you to do this because I forced you," he replied earnestly. "I want you to do it because I asked."

Eames laughed lightly. "Darling, don't flatter yourself into thinking that you could _force_ me into anything, even with two of you against the one of me."

He got a couple of arch looks in response to this sally, and he couldn't tell whether the projection looked more like himself or Arthur in that moment. 

This did excite his interest, in that it helped him to remember that while this projection might wear his face and might behave the way that Arthur expected Eames would behave, he was essentially a portion of _Arthur's_ subconscious. So even though Eames wasn't going to get getting his hands on Arthur himself, to be tumbled by Arthur's projection of Eames was the next closest thing.

In a manner of speaking.

"Well, whatever you choose to think," Arthur murmured, bypassing the matter entirely in that diplomatic way he possessed, "I'm glad that you've agreed."

"And what are you expecting to get out of this?" Eames couldn't help asking, because in a situation this bizarre, it didn't hurt to seek a little clarification; some specificity as it were. After all, he was about to let a projection of himself that Arthur had dreamed up ravage his tender arse. He ought to know the _why_ of it.

"You do realize that this is still not a proof of your purported imagination," he added, smirking. "It's simply an example of your perversion. Entirely unexpected, might I add, and very intriguing. But it doesn't mean you've won the bet."

Arthur didn't seem bothered by this stark declaration. "I intend to watch and receive sexual stimulation," he answered Eames' question, ignoring his following statement, and speaking so frankly that Eames was reluctantly impressed. As well as being quite turned on himself, at the thought of Arthur getting hard and touching himself while he watched Eames and a projection of himself tangling in the sheets....

Speaking of said projection, he was still standing beside the bed. If he'd been blankly waiting, Eames might have called the whole thing off, demand Arthur banish the projection and fuck Eames himself. But Arthur had more control and more skill than that, as Eames had already known and grown to expect. The projection was watching them speak, eyes bright and clear, his lips still tugging up at the corners in a little smirk. He was waiting, yes, but waiting with attention and interest. Eames shouldn't have expected anything less from one of Arthur's deliberate projections.

Eames badly wanted to ask more questions; how long Arthur had been cultivating this scenario, how often he had come under and worked on crafting this particular projection, whether Arthur had ever had sex with the projection of Eames....

But both Arthur and the projection were looking at Eames with _intent_ , and prolonging the conversation would only be perceived as stalling on his part no matter how curious he was. Arthur had peeled away so many of the layers that had built up between them in one go that Eames couldn't really respond in any way other than to join in with his perverted plans. It wasn't as though he was unenthusiastic. And it wasn't as though he didn't think Arthur would be willing to talk about it later. If Eames was putting his arse on the line then he deserved full disclosure, even if it was after the fact. And if Arthur wasn't willing to grant him that, then Arthur wasn't going to be getting anywhere near Eames' arse ever again.

But that was defeatist thinking, and right now Eames had no reason to think that Arthur wouldn't be willing to discuss this thoroughly... later. Once they were done with the dirty deed, and the projection was gone. After all, Eames didn't really want to talk about motivations and emotions before a witness, even if it _was_ only a piece of Arthur's subconscious.

Arthur evidently considered that they were through talking for now, because he gave the projection a little nod, at which point Eames' doppelganger very casually and simply dropped trou.

Eames couldn't help staring.

"How the hell do you know what my equipment looks like?" he asked, more confused than outraged. He certainly had no idea what Arthur looked like underneath his clothing. He hoped to find out someday, it was true. Preferably _today_ , since Arthur had manned up enough to force the issue. But no matter how good a guess Arthur might have made, there was no way he could have gotten the projection _that_ accurate without actual knowledge. This certainly wasn't a result of his hotly debated imagination.

Arthur grinned at him. "I have my methods. I'm a point man, remember?"

Eames scowled, only partially meaning it. "I do believe that I've got some catching up to do," he drawled. He wasn't angry, but he felt as though the balance needed to be righted a bit. However Arthur had gotten his information, Eames deserved a chance to see what Arthur was packing in his own trou.

Speaking of trousers, Eames was sensing a potential problem.

"Arthur, when you said I would not be removing my trousers during this dream...."

"I may have misspoken," Arthur said evenly, as though it was no big thing for him to admit to this. "I suppose that in a manner of speaking, you _will_ be removing your own trousers. Although, technically not, since a projection of yourself isn't you." 

Eames let loose a little chuckle, because that did make a certain amount of sense. It really was quite incredible that he was willing to go along with Arthur's mad plan here.... But who was Eames to turn down the sexual advances of a man he'd been hungering over for far too long now? Even when the way that Arthur was approaching this was quite....

Well, Eames wasn't prepared to cede the point of their bet, that Arthur did indeed possess an imagination. But he had to admit, privately, to himself, that this mad scenario certainly went a long ways toward proving Arthur's point.

"You should stop thinking so much," Arthur instructed, and the fact that _he_ was the one saying that to _Eames_ was almost enough to have Eames laughing aloud. Instead, he replied;

"You should stop me thinking so much." Because he had never been the sort to back down from a challenge, and if Arthur expected him to lie here and be ravaged by a projection of himself, then they really had ought to get on with things.

"Excellent advice," Arthur nodded. Eames found he was curious as to whether Arthur was going to shed his own clothing at any point in the proceedings, but then Arthur distracted him from this compelling mental image by commanding, "Go ahead and unfasten your fly."

Eames gave him a crooked grin as he moved to so. As he popped the button and lowered the zip, he had a distinct sensation of passing the point of no return, even before the projection of himself moved to crawl onto the mattress, headed past Arthur and toward him.

Eames reflected that he himself had probably looked that predatory at several points in his past, but he had never been face to face with... well, his own _face_. And it was just the faintest bit intimidating. He wondered vaguely why everyone he'd looked at like this had been more turned on than terrified....

But then again, it might be different knowing that it was Arthur's subconscious behind his own familiar features. Because Arthur could be far more ruthless than Eames, and there was a hunger there that wasn't going to stop until it was satiated.

For someone who had never to his _knowledge_ seen Eames' tackle, who had definitely never had sex with Eames, Arthur certainly seemed to have things down. Eames entertained a brief vision of Arthur setting up a hidden camera in his hotel room somewhere, watching Eames screwing someone and jerking off while doing so, because how else could he have had this knowledge?

But then the projection was decisively tugging his trousers off, and Eames felt that it would be best to turn his attention to what was going on right now. 

He'd have time to question Arthur later about how he knew the things he knew. Once the bet they were in the process of settling was decided once and for all.

Though, Eames had to think, things did seem to have gone a bit off the rails. Not that he minded in the slightest. This was probably the most interesting thing that had happened to him since he had begun working in the dream-share.

Which meant, damn it all, that Arthur might well have won the bet already. 

But if Eames was bottoming for a projection of himself, he'd be damned before he admitted to having lost the wager.

***

Seeing Eames looking vulnerable, albeit only for a brief moment, had turned Arthur on far more than he had thought possible. But seeing Eames becoming slowly aroused and welcoming the advance of his double... well, that was even more of a turn-on.

To be fair, there was a small portion of Arthur that was jealous, that wanted to be the one stripping Eames, touching his body, sinking his dick deep inside of him....

But Arthur had been the one to set this up and put it into motion, so he could hardly complain. As well, it was going to be mind-meltingly _hot_ watching two Eames going at it on the bed in front of him. And, lastly, if he had his way there were going to be many opportunities in the future to fuck Eames himself.

Arthur hadn't so much broken the ice as he had dropped an explosive device into a small pond. They had been dancing around one another for years, but there could be no going back to the way they had been before, not once this was all over with. That was just what Arthur wanted. There might be some fallout afterward, but if it came to that Arthur would deal with it. He was good at dealing with things. And, yes, it was true that Eames was often good at throwing him off his game, more so than anyone else in the _world_ , but Arthur tended to think that they were both on the same page.

Certainly, Eames wasn't putting up any protest now. And things were about to get _very_ interesting.

As the two hard, lean bodies came together, Arthur shifted from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed, closer to the headboard, fully on the mattress. He had a better view this way, he could lean back against the pillows without twisting at the waist, and now he was in a prime position to hand the projection of Eames the bottle of lube that was sitting waiting on the bedside table. 

Arthur was well aware that with the right amount of talent and control -- which Eames definitely possessed --- there actually mightn't be any need for lube while having sex in the dream. But he wanted this to be as true to life as possible. He would go as far as leaving out the condom, because that _really_ wasn't necessary, but he fully intended the projection to fuck Eames as though this was happening in the waking world.

Not that there could be so much hotness in the waking world. Arthur allowed himself to entertain a brief fantasy in which Eames had an identical twin that he was willing to have sex with... but there was no such being. So having Eames fuck a projection of himself here in the dream-share was as close to that as Arthur was going to get.

And since the projection of Eames was of Arthur's own creation, Arthur was less liable to get jealous and possessive. Because it would be _him_ screwing Eames, in a manner of speaking. Not literally, but it was better than having Eames dream up a similar projection by himself. 

That would have just been weird.

Arthur definitely had plans for Eames' delicious ass once they were awake; plans involving both condoms and lube. And his _own_ dick, not a surrogate; no matter how attractive said surrogate was. But for now he could watch the show before him with only mild feelings of jealousy and possessiveness.

Eames was lounging back against the pillows, only about two and a half feet away from Arthur. It was a large bed that Arthur had dreamed up, large enough to easily hold three adult male bodies. Eames might have lost much of the bulk he had brought with him to beginning of the Fischer job -- most of it before the job had even ended -- but he was still in incredibly good shape, all hard muscles and tight curves. And the projection of him was exactly the same.

Arthur watched as his projection crawled over top of Eames, hovering on hands and knees, not touching him anywhere... yet. Arthur was the only one on the bed who wasn't naked, but he wasn't involved in the play. He did reach down and unfasten his fly as the projection of Eames lowered his head and Eames tilted up his chin, and their plush, pink lips came together in a smooth slide that almost looked familiar, almost looked like they had done this before, even though Arthur knew that was impossible.

Eames had lips built as much for kissing as for cocksucking, and Arthur took a moment to appreciate the sight of two sets of these lips locked together, moving slick and easy over one another. He reached down to adjust himself in his pants, pulling his erection up so that it rested against his lower belly, jutting out of his open fly but hidden beneath the tail of his shirt.

He didn't touch himself any further, for now, because he didn't want anything to distract his attention from the view before him. He could feel growing arousal hardening his dick, pulsing in his balls, and he _would_ be touching himself; just not quite yet. 

Eames was kissing back enthusiastically enough to banish any fears Arthur might have harbored that he felt he had been coerced into this, but the projection was definitely the aggressor in this lip-lock. It only made sense, Arthur mused as he watched avidly, licking his own lips and wishing it was him kissing Eames instead. After all, the projection was a portion of _Arthur's_ subconscious. Even though he was set up to respond to things the way that Eames would, he still harbored all of Arthur's feverish and long-deferred desires for the annoying, cockteasing forger. 

Arthur watched the projection lick his way into Eames' mouth, and his dick throbbed, begging for his hand, but Arthur ignored it in favor of turning a bit more toward the action and saying, "You two can touch each other, you know."

He hadn't exactly meant it as a command, but maybe it sort of had been. They certainly took it as one. Arthur just had time to glance down and note with some satisfaction that Eames' dick was definitely taking an interest in things, proving that he really was into this, then the projection shifted to settle down over top of Eames' body, both of them giving a low groan as this ground their burgeoning erections together.

Arthur managed to stifle a sound of his own. They made such a beautiful picture, all that strength and virility, perfectly realized in duplicate. He prided himself in having created a projection that was virtually indistinguishable from the real thing... and yet he also knew that he would always be able to tell which was which, just by looking into those stormy grey eyes.

It wasn't just the projection who had acted on Arthur's order. Eames reached up, wrapping his arms around those broad shoulders and sinking fingers into the unruly brown hair as their mouths came together again, slick and hungry. Arthur doubted Eames found his own face and body to be as sexy as Arthur found them to be, but surely he was self aware enough that this was titillating for him. He definitely seemed to have no problem arching up into the kiss as the projection began to rock slightly between his solidly-muscled thighs.

That was maybe moving things along a little too fast for Arthur's tastes, he thought as he gave in to temptation and reached down to palm his hard dick through the thin material of his shirt. He wanted to see a lot more touching and tonguing before they got to the actual humping.

Rather than speak aloud, he sent a little mental poke at the projection. It was true that the projection was largely a product of his subconscious mind, but Arthur had gone out of his way to craft it more fully using lucid dreaming techniques. As well, since it was indeed a piece of his subconscious that meant that it would want what Arthur wanted. That was why the projection was so eager to fuck Eames. And that was why, now, the projection paused, gave one last, light, affectionate peck to Eames' pressure-bruised lips, then pulled back and began to lick and nuzzle his way down Eames' neck.

Eames let out a whine that was equal parts discontented and aroused, his head tipping back almost unconsciously as the projection sucked a quick hickey into the thin skin over his collarbone. His lips were ruby-red and even fuller than usual, parted and pretty as he gasped for air, and it took almost everything Arthur had in him to remain where he was and not lunge over there to kiss Eames even more breathless himself.

Just as hot as watching Eames panting so prettily, was the sight of the projection's equally plush mouth moving over the surface of Eames' neck and shoulders. Arthur slid his hand down to fondle his balls carefully, imagining how it was going to feel once that mouth was on his own body. Well, it was going to be _Eames'_ lips and tongue, not the projection's. Of course. 

Eames' fingers were tangling in the projection's hair, strong and graceful if not quite as long and lean as Arthur's. Then his shoulders slammed back into the bed when the projection finally, finally made his way down to those tempting pink nipples, and his hand clenched in the projection's cowlick as he let out a strangled groan. 

Eames had nipples like Arthur had never seen outside of a woman's breasts, and they seemed to be about as sensitive, he thought smugly, as he watched the projection toy with them. Eames loosed a low whining sound that came as much from his chest as his throat, and shifted restlessly beneath the projection as he used fingers, tongue, and teeth to stimulate the fascinating bits of blushing flesh. 

Arthur knew that his own nipples were not that sensitive, nor were they as pert or pink. That was part of why he found Eames' to be so incredible. That, and the fact that they were a part of Eames. There wasn't much about Eames' body that Arthur didn't highly approve of, in the most carnal of ways.

Eames whined again, settling his feet into the mattress and grinding his hips up into the projection's belly, and as amazingly hot as it was to see him lose control like this, Arthur couldn't let him get away with it.

He snapped his fingers, and the projection of Eames levered up, smirking with swollen, saliva-wet lips, ignoring Eames' bereft little sound of protest. He moved smoothly, propping himself on his elbows, but his thumbs still pressing against those erect nipples, as he settled his lips against Eames' once again. Arthur watched closely as the projection licked his way aggressively into Eames' mouth, practically fucking him with his tongue. The projection's hips were now pressing Eames down into the mattress so firmly that he couldn't do much more than strain into the kiss, tugging at the projection's hair almost painfully. 

Arthur smiled smugly as Eames moaned and squirmed, so very obviously into this. That was what he had wanted to see; Eames breaking apart under a projection of Arthur's lust which was wearing Eames' own face. It was the best of both worlds, though Arthur knew that it was going to be even better once they woke up and he fucked Eames into the mattress while the two of them were awake.

He had Eames right where he wanted him, and he wasn't going to let him get away. This was no longer about the bet, about proving that Arthur had an imagination. This was about staking his claim on Eames so that no more doubt remained.

Although... right now, it was ostensibly more about the projection staking Arthur's claim. Because it was the projection who had Eames where Arthur wanted. 

Lifting his head away and letting Eames pant against his neck while clutching him close, the projection reached a hand toward Arthur. Arthur raised a brow, thinking that he might be rushing things a little, but then his own stiff dick throbbed, reminding him of what they were doing here, and he pushed the bottle of lube into the waiting hand.

The projection smirked at him, the skin around his eyes crinkling in the same way Eames' did when something Arthur had said or done had amused him. Arthur gave a crisp nod. He liked the projection, had spent some time down here in the dream-share with him perfecting his physicality and personality, but he didn't know that he'd be seeing him much once he had the real thing. Well, maybe when and if he ever wanted to watch Eames fuck himself again.... Or maybe they could indulge in an incredibly attractive threesome....

But for right now the projection was here, and he had the lube in hand. He quirked his scarred brow, as though he knew what Arthur had been thinking -- and considering that he was a part of Arthur's brain, no matter how independent, he probably did -- but he appeared more amused than anything else. It figured, Arthur thought, feeling amused himself. He was generally self-aware and controlled while Eames was more volatile... so combining the two of them into one being was bound to get a little strange.

And yet strangely familiar. Which was why Arthur had no problem watching the projection fuck Eames before Arthur had ever gotten his hands on him, before he'd ever gotten to kiss him, waking or dreaming.

Once again the projection mapped his way down Eames' neck with tongue, lips, and teeth. Arthur thought of Eames' skin marked with crooked tooth-marks. He thought of Eames' skin marked with straight bite-marks from his own teeth. And he thought of Eames' crooked teeth sinking into his own flesh, and he burned. Giving up any pretense at self restraint, he shoved his hand under his shirttail, into his open fly, and rubbed himself, carefully because his hand was dry but with deliberate intent.

Planting his free hand in the center of Eames' chest to hold him still where he lay back against the pillows, the projection lifted himself up until he was kneeling between Eames' thighs. He smirked down at Eames as Eames' hands moved restlessly over his own torso, his left hand sliding down to hold his own dick much the way Arthur was cradling his.

Arthur could feel himself salivating as he watched the flushed, glistening wet head of Eames' cock peeking out of his foreskin as he wanked himself slowly. Without his realizing it, his own hand was moving over his hard-on in sync with Eames'. But then the projection set aside the bottle of lube and grabbed both of Eames' thighs, tugging until he was lying flat on his back instead of propped up on the pillows.

"Oy," Eames squawked in protest, but then he sucked in an explosive breath, his head slamming back into the mattress as the projection grasped the base of his dick and, without preamble, slid it into the tight heat of his mouth.

Arthur had always wanted to see Eames giving a blowjob. Even when they had met for the first time and he'd thought he'd hated the man and never wanted to work with him again, it had been on his mind. Now he got to see it, and even though it wasn't _his_ dick in that glorious mouth it was almost as good. Possibly better, in a way, because Arthur was able to stare, to soak in every last detail, instead of being overwhelmed by the feeling of it -- not that he didn't intend to get Eames' mouth on his aching dick as soon as possible once they woke -- and it was Eames' own gorgeous uncut penis that was vanishing between those fat red lips.

As he watched this happen, Arthur let out a low sound of unrestrained arousal that almost drowned out the loud groan that Eames loosed and the smug hum of satisfaction that the projection made around the thickness of his dick. 

Arthur didn't really miss anything, though, because Eames let out several more groans as the blowjob really got going, his hands fisting uselessly on the bedspread, his hips jerking under the projection's restraining hands, his head tossed back and toward Arthur, his eyes closed, his mouth open, perspiration darkening the hair at his temples, and a dark flush working its way down his cheeks and neck to color his heaving chest. He was beautiful in his arousal.

Arthur found he was holding his breath, his eyes burning as he watched the projection of Eames sucking hard on the thick column of Eames' erection, sliding down, pulling up in a saliva-slick slurp, then swirling his tongue around the tip. He tugged a little harder at his own hard-on, giving in to a moment of fierce jealousy, even though he had been the one to set up this scenario. He wasn't sure who he was more jealous of, but he knew that he was jealous of both.

He almost missed seeing it, when the projection retrieved the lube and slid a couple of slick fingers between Eames' ass cheeks, beneath his bobbing chin and Eames' tight balls. He definitely didn't miss it, though, when Eames stiffened and let out a sharp gasp. 

Giving in to temptation, Arthur shifted on the bed so that he could get a better look. He couldn't quite see the spot where two of the projection's fingers were inside of Eames' ass, but he could at least see where his hand was buried between Eames' legs, the heel of his thumb nudging at the tightly drawn-up sac of Eames' balls. Once again, Arthur experienced the nearly overwhelming urge to get in on this, to touch, to cradle those delicate orbs and feel the dampness of sweat and the projection's saliva as it slid down the shaft of Eames' dick and onto his balls....

But once again he forced himself to remain separate. This was all about watching, not about participating. And denying himself now would make it all the sweeter later, when it was Arthur who had his fingers buried inside of Eames' hot body, when it would be his erection sliding into that tight heat.

Eames let out a low moan, writhing beneath the projection as he pulled off of his dick with a lewd sound, then set most of his attention on what he was doing with his hand. Arthur was pretty sure that they were up to three fingers by now, and Eames didn't seem to know whether to move toward the penetration or away from it. It was clear that he was still completely turned on, though, by the way his thick, wet dick was pulsing against the tight muscles of his lower belly, already leaking copious amounts of pre-ejaculate. It ran down his hip, darkening the bedspread beneath him.

Arthur licked his lips again, fumbling his hand down his pants and cupping his own balls, much the way he had wanted to do to Eames'. He knelt there a moment, just holding on, breathing heavily, though not panting the way Eames was, and tried to calm himself. He was too close to the edge, and the projection hadn't even gotten inside of Eames yet.

That might not be too long in coming, though, as the projection freed his occupied hand to a low whine from Eames, and grabbed the lube again. Arthur watched avidly as he poured a palmful and slicked up his jutting erection with a generous amount. They were fast approaching that most intimate of moments, even more so than a dick in a mouth or fingers in an ass, and Arthur shot his hand out to grab the lube and slick his own palm up while he still retained the power of thought.

Eames let out a wordless sound that Arthur chose to interpret as enthusiasm and encouragement, that definitely wasn't a protest, as the projection levered up the leg nearer Arthur with his lube-free hand, holding his own turgid erection with the other. Eames was more vocal but less articulate than Arthur had expected him to be in bed, and he _liked_ that. Not that he minded a little dirty talk, but the noises that Eames made seemed to be dragged out of him, making them even more precious, and there was no intent getting in the way, distraction from the pure visceral satisfaction of hearing them.

Arthur watched, his mouth dry, his hand slick and tight around his own hard-on, as the projection moved the taut red tip of his dick to the flushed pink pucker of Eames' anus. It didn't look as though there was any way it was going to fit, but of course all three of them knew better than that.

Eames jerked, then let out a low, drawn-out moan as that thick dick punched through the faint resistance his body offered then slid smoothly inside. Arthur found he was gasping as though he'd been running a marathon, sweat trickling down his cheekbones and the nape of his neck as he stared fixedly at the point of penetration, his hand moving almost absently to jerk at his own throbbing dick.

He wondered faintly what it might be like to be fucked by one's own penis. Eames knew now, of course. Arthur wasn't curious enough to try to himself, but he was enjoying the _hell_ out of watching Eames' dick fuck into Eames' ass. He planned on having his own hard-on inside Eames, and he had no qualms about letting Eames screw him at some point in the future. 

That was as far as that thought went, because the projection of Eames had hooked his elbows under Eames' knees, his hands and knees sinking into the mattress, and he was bent over Eames' supine body as he began steady pounding in and out of Eames' exposed ass.

Arthur was a little disappointed that his subconscious evidently thought Eames lacked finesse in the art of fucking, but maybe his subconscious just knew how close Arthur was to coming and wanted to speed things along. And Arthur was certainly amenable to discovering for himself whether the real Eames might tease things out a little longer in the future, when they were awake, when Eames was the one fucking into Arthur.

As it was, Arthur was unable to look away as those glorious ass cheeks rhythmically clenched and released as the projection drove his erection between the same glorious ass cheeks, as Eames cried out, writhing beneath the pulsing hips of his doppelganger, blunt nails digging into the bunched muscles of the projection's back and shoulders as he strove to hold on and meet the vigorous thrusts at the same time.

Arthur's hand was flying over his own dick, where it was sticking out between his shirt and pants. He was wrecking his clothing with lube and pre-ejaculate, but he didn't care. This was only a dream, and he was within moments, within a few good tugs of coming, he could tell. His breath was tight in his chest, he felt like the entire surface of his body was burning up, his balls were tingling, and the pleasure he was dragging out of his dick was radiating through his entire system.

He panted, watching with fervent eyes as Eames shuddered and then cried out and arched awkwardly in the projection's arms, his hard, fat dick jumping and spilling all over his stomach. The projection moved his grip to Eames' hips, digging in as he shifted their joining and gave several last, hard, almost violent thrusts, fucking Eames through his climax and then bowing over and crying out as his thighs tightened and he came inside of Eames with several abortive jerks of his pelvis.

That was what it took to bring Arthur off in turn, and he hunched into himself, grunting as his orgasm hit him like a hammer to the base of his skull. His fingers convulsed around his rigid erection as he shot off, the threads of hot jizz shooting across the mattress and mingling with the mess Eames had made of his own belly. 

Moving quickly even though most of his attention was on his spasming balls and wildly pulsing dick, Arthur shoved the projection over a little, and rubbed the super sensitive head of his dick against the blazing-hot, come-drenched surface of Eames' stomach, coaxing a couple of final spurts out, soiling Eames at last with his own touch, his own fluids.

Arthur was faintly aware of the projection chuckling and carefully pulling his twitching erection out of Eames' well-fucked ass, but he was far more concerned with the way that Eames was reaching for him, and he sank into the other man's arms, finally, finally claiming Eames' lips with his own.

They were both panting a little too roughly to kiss properly, but they shared air and tangled their tongues together for long moments.

The projection moved around to lie behind Eames, shoving him up onto his side and toward Arthur. Arthur shifted so that he was lying on his side next to Eames, letting his arms slide around the forger's shivering body. He could feel Eames' heat and sweat through his shirt, but didn't bother to remove it. He liked the feeling of control that being clothed while Eames was naked gave him.

The projection was mouthing lightly at Eames' shoulder as Arthur and Eames traded lazy kisses, their breathing slowly settling. Arthur let his hands roam over Eames' body, allowing himself to feel the muscles and light wisps of hair, fingers tracing curiously over nipples that were still a bit enflamed. This wasn't what Arthur had planned on happening, but he wasn't about to complain at getting a bit of an earlier start at getting his hands on Eames than intended.

Eames gasped and squirmed, and Arthur roused from his post-orgasmic daze enough to realize that the projection was sliding his fingers into Eames' ass, toying with the mingled lube and come there. Arthur glared at him as Eames hid his face in Arthur's collar, whimpering and shifting restlessly against Arthur's body. The projection smirked at Arthur, and it took him a moment to realize that it wasn't challenge that he was seeing in those grey eyes, but an invitation, as he smoothly removed his fingers.

Smirking back once he recognized the expression, Arthur slid his own hand between Eames' body and the projection's, dipping his own fingers into that tight heat. Eames let out a choked little sound, clenching around the intrusive digits, but he didn't seem any longer to be trying to get away.

Arthur was satiated, for now, and not likely to get hard again for at least an hour, but they had time down here, time to fuck some more, before they woke. And then they could do it all over again in the waking world.

Eames was panting against Arthur's neck in small gusts of hot breath, his ass clenching around Arthur's probing fingers, his own hands clutching at Arthur's shirt, his mostly flaccid dick rubbing against Arthur's pants in a way that _had_ to be at least a little painful. He didn't seem inclined to pull away, though, and Arthur had no intention of letting go of his prize.

With one more speaking quirk of his brows, the projection tipped Arthur a quick salute and rose from the bed. Arthur didn't watch as he padded naked out of the room, but he didn't need to. The projection had looked like Eames, but he hadn't been Eames, and he had served out his usefulness. Whether Arthur ever called him up again or not, he was no longer needed here. Now it was Arthur and Eames in the bed, and that was all that was necessary.

"Eames," Arthur murmured, fucking his fingers in and out of Eames' ass, and when Eames raised his head, he claimed his mouth in another sweet kiss. There were things he should probably say, but he couldn't find the words, and he thought that Eames probably already knew most of them. So he settled for, "Thank you."

Eames smiled sleepily, his eyes dark and heated under heavy lids. "Shouldn't I be the one saying that?" he asked, in a fucked-out rumble.

"I don't think so," Arthur replied, frowning, trying to think it through. That was tough to do with a brain that was fogged with the warmth of afterglow and preoccupied with the promise of potential renewal of arousal. "Pretty sure it's me thanking you."

"Mm. All right then," Eames murmured agreeably. Arthur made a mental note to fuck Eames limp any time he wanted to ask him a favor in the future. It might not work every time, but he had a feeling it would smooth the way.

And it certainly wouldn't be any hardship for him.

"How do you feel about dreaming up a shower?" Eames asked, beginning to rouse slightly, though he made no move to withdraw from Arthur's embrace.

Arthur chuckled. "That strikes me as an excellent idea," he replied. "As long as I'm invited to join you?"

He couldn't help the way it came out as a question.

Eames gave him a smile that was surprisingly shy and sweet, then ruined the illusion by asking, "Well, how would you be able to fuck me in the shower if you don't join me?"

And what could Arthur do in response but laugh, dream up a shower, and give Eames the fuck he was asking for?

***

Eames blinked to awareness exactly where he had gone to sleep, and yet everything had changed. Everything. Or, well, everything between himself and Arthur. And wasn't that everything?

He almost could have sworn he felt the lingering ache in his arse of a couple of good fuckings, but he knew that this would fade quickly now that he was awake. He stirred, reaching up to scrub at his eyes, taking a precious moment to collect himself before he had to face Arthur again.

And then there Arthur was, carefully removing the needle from his wrist, and even though his eyes were downcast while he performed this task, there was Arthur's face.

Eames examined this face. God, how he adored it. Even more now that he felt as though he had permission to do so.

He still wasn't sure what there was between the two of them, but Arthur had made it clear what he wanted, and Eames couldn't deny that he wanted it too. 

"So," he said, sitting up as Arthur straightened and set about putting the PASIV device in order. "I suppose that you won that bet, fair and square."

Arthur gave him a sharp glance and Eames didn't even try to school his features. It had been a lame offering, but it was the only way that Eames had been able to let Arthur know how he felt. Arthur had been the bold one, the one to strip away every last bit of recalcitrance between the two of them... but Eames just _couldn't_ open himself up that much, make himself that vulnerable.

What if he had misread things? What if it was only a sex thing? In the dream, Arthur had murmured things in Eames' ear as he had pressed him into the cool tile wall, rocking slowly into Eames' arse, making him feel _everything_.... But those had been sex promises. Was there anything to say that Arthur would still want him now that they were topside? Was there anything to say that Arthur wanted anything more than sex from Eames?

"Do you really think so?" Arthur asked, clicking the case decisively closed and meeting Eames' gaze. He looked as cool and controlled as ever, aside from the faint flush of pink to the apples of his cheeks and at the tips of his ears. His eyes, though, seemed to Eames to be softer than he had ever seen them. If he wasn't imagining things....

"I certainly wouldn't say so if I didn't think so," Eames said a little tartly. "You know how I hate losing a wager. Especially one that should have been a sure thing for me."

Unexpectedly, Arthur smiled at Eames, dimples on full display. Eames felt his heart thump against his breastbone and he knew that he was sunk. 

"Then I guess I get to claim my winnings," Arthur mused, and he was staring at Eames with something that looked frighteningly like affection.

"Well, go on then," Eames urged, feeling as though he was standing at the edge of a cliff. It was up to Arthur whether he flew or fell from this point on, he supposed.

Arthur reached down and gave Eames a hand up. "I could order you to come back to my hotel room with me," Arthur said, his gaze flickering between Eames' eyes and his lips. 

"You certainly could," Eames agreed, licking his lips and hoping that this was what Arthur would do.

"But I'd rather _ask_ you to come with me," Arthur added, his eyes darkening and his expression growing more serious. "And have you join me your own free will."

And in this statement, Eames thought that he could read what Arthur couldn't say aloud either. So maybe they understood one another without spelling it out.

"Who am I to turn down an invitation like that?" he asked, speaking lightly but letting his feelings creep into his eyes and colour his face. He could feel himself blushing, and Arthur mercifully ignored it, instead leaning forward and giving him a sweet kiss. Their first kiss while waking.

"Thank you," Arthur murmured when he pulled back. His eyes were bright and his hand crept around Eames', and Eames abruptly realized that, yes, Arthur was as emotionally invested in this as he was.

"But what about the bet?" he couldn't help asking. Not that he didn't trust Arthur, but he'd rather not have that hanging over his head.

"As far as I'm concerned, I've gotten everything I needed out of it," Arthur told him seriously. "What's your opinion on the matter?"

Eames ran his gaze over the dark hair, those clear brown eyes, the flushed cheeks, the cupid-bow lips, and the exquisite package that was Arthur. That was evidently his now, for the taking. For whatever reason, however it had happened. And who was he to reject such a gift?

"Let's think of it as both of us winning," he offered with an impish grin.

Arthur stared at him a moment, then burst into honest, delighted laughter. And Eames knew that he had found his heart, and this was where his heart was going to stay. The comforting and terrifying part was that he thought that Arthur felt the same way.

"Let's go," Arthur said, tugging at Eames' hand, leading the way toward the door.

And what else could Eames do but follow his heart wherever it might lead.

[end]


End file.
